


kyle broflovski does not cry.

by Luvandia



Category: South Park
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, References to Depression, references to Ass Burgers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 15:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luvandia/pseuds/Luvandia
Summary: He remembers his night terrors. He remembers Stan, on his knees, begging for Kyle to come back to him.Kyle, I love you.Kyle doesn’t deserve it.





	kyle broflovski does not cry.

Kyle Broflovski does not cry.

Revelation descends upon him around four in the morning, after a string of nightmares that have him grasping at the sheets for a presence that isn’t there. His fingers twitch with purpose—he sleeps with his phone by his head, an old habit from the days when still texted Stan to sleep. It would be so easy to call him and pretend they still talk like they used to. Stan would pick up, disgruntled but worried, confused but soothing, groggy but _there_.

It would be so easy, but Kyle can’t.

When was it that they stopped talking? When exactly did the bridges burn? Why did he stop caring?

Why does Stan still care?

That’s the worst part about it all. Stan still cares. Kyle pulls himself out of bed, slips his shoes on, and trudges out the door. His mom would have his head if she caught him awake at this hour, but it’s a terror he’ll take over this overwhelming feeling of loss. He doesn’t know where it’s come from. He doesn’t understand. 

Do you ever just... wake up in the morning and mourn what you used to have?

Flitting visions from his dreams flash into his mind. His subconscious has stripped him down and left him vulnerable; he remembers the glimmer of Cartman’s awful teeth, the way the townspeople had turned their backs on him, the slow shift between Kyle Broflovski, son of Sheila, and Kyle Broflovski, his mother born again. He remembers reaching for Stan’s hand upon waking, only to realise it’s not there anymore. And it hasn’t been. Not for a long while.

The road is cold beneath his shoes. He warms his hands and keeps walking, and when he shows up at the door Randy is the one who lets him in. Stan’s father is drunk and swaying on his feet, keys in one hand, bottle in the other. Kyle looks at the brand of whisky with tired eyes. He remembers his night terrors. He remembers Stan, on his knees, begging for Kyle to come back to him.

_Kyle, I love you._

Kyle doesn’t deserve it.

There’s no reason for the hitch in his breath, the tightness in his chest when he sees Stan curled into his sheets. The drawer beside him is open—another bottle of whisky sits in the compartment, half-empty, cap haphazardly screwed on. It’s sealed, but the room still smells of alcohol. When Kyle moves closer in, he understands why.

He pulls his shoes off, climbs under the sheets, tucks his face into Stan’s back. Part of him wants to shake the other boy awake, scream at him until he stops. Stop drinking, stop being depressed, stop turning into your _father_. The remnants of Kyle’s own night terrors still haunt him, though, and he thinks perhaps now he understands what it’s like to be forgotten by the people you love. 

Kyle Broflovski does not cry, even as he slips his fingers between Stan’s and holds tight. There’s wetness against his lashes, soaking into the fabric of Stan’s pajamas. He does not cry, because he has no right to, but when the hand squeezes back he thinks maybe this time, it’s okay.

**Author's Note:**

> (taps mic) style please make up. thank you


End file.
